Istara's hand held in his, Sethi made his way through Waset's palace, leading her past subdued courtiers, servants, and guardsmen. The pharaoh must not have made any secret of his intention to execute Egypt's commander. Guards raised their fists to their chests as Sethi passed, bowing their heads, stricken, murmuring his name. Alongside him, Istara proceeded, pale, silent, and withdrawn, a lamb for the slaughter.

He left the shadows of the colonnade and entered the courtyard outside the pharaoh's training ground, the heat hitting him like the blast of a bread oven. Guardsmen snapped to attention, tilting their spears toward him--an honor reserved for the pharaoh-their fists pressed tight against their chests. Several blinked hard, their eyes glittering in the brilliant light.

Tightening his grip on Istara's hand, Sethi crossed the blazing courtyard into the coolness of the training ground's shadowed vestibule. He nodded at the nearest guards to close the doors. They hesitated, unwilling to be the ones to seal the Commander of Egypt's fate. The captain of the guard came forward. He bowed low.

"My lord," he said, his words taut with grief. "All of Egypt mourns this day. May the gods protect you on your journey."

"Close the doors," Sethi said, quiet, looking over his stricken men, his heart clenching, "as Pharaoh has commanded."

He waited as the captain and his guards heaved on the enormous doors, struggling to dislodge them, their sandals sliding on the stone flags. More guards joined them, their muscles straining, until first one door, then the other shifted, closing with an ominous, low boom. Without, a wooden beam slid into place, sealing them inside. Silence descended.

Sethi turned. In the blistering white heat of the training ground, Ramesses waited, alone, a khopesh in each hand, his muscled body gleaming with oil. On his right forearm, he wore a narrow wooden armguard, protecting his arm from elbow to fingertips, another lay on the glittering sand, waiting for Sethi.

Moving to the vestibule's deepest shadows, Sethi pulled Istara into his arms and kissed her for the last time, brief, tender. He drew away, his eyes moving over her, drinking his fill of her. "Do not weep until I have gone," he said, ragged, "I would not see you grieving while I still live."

Her eyes glistening, she clung to him as he stepped back, her fingers slipping through his. She said his name, her voice cracking as he let her go, a plea.

His heart tight, he backed away and walked out into the drenching light. He stopped before Ramesses and dropped to his knee. A khopesh landed on the ground beside him, sending up a spray of sand.

"Commander Sethi," Ramesses said, cold, "are you prepared to go to the gods?"

Sethi met the pharaoh's gaze, calm. "I am."

Ramesses narrowed his eyes, dissatisfied. Under his hostile glare, Sethi picked up the armguard and fastened its leather straps onto his left arm. Pulling the khopesh to him, he rose and retreated several steps. He brought his sword up into the opening stance and waited.

"Despite the evidence damning you," Ramesses said, taut, "I must demand your answer. Have you known my future queen?"

"I have," Sethi answered, looking at Istara, watching them, stricken.

"And for how long have you been taking what is mine?" Ramesses asked, low, dangerous.

"This afternoon was the first and only time," Sethi replied, his eyes still on Istara.

"So you took her to spite my judgment," Ramesses breathed, his face darkening. "You truly are a whore's son."

Bristling at the slur against his mother, Sethi pushed into Ramesses's space, forcing him to take a step back. "By Osiris's blood," he said, "you go too far. I could not even contemplate such a foul thing, to use Istara in such a way. Despite your wealth and power, even you, a god, cannot overcome the bond between a man and a woman. If I had to do it all again, knowing how it will end, I would. I am honored to die for her. She is worth this and more. Much more."

"Fine words," Ramesses spat after a brief, stunned silence, "but two facts remain: you have broken my trust, and taken what belongs to me. I will not be merciful."

"I welcome your blade," Sethi said, dark, as he lifted his sword. "The more I suffer, the better."

Ramesses swung his khopesh toward the vestibule, where Istara stood, pale and trembling. "You wish to suffer?" he scoffed, incensed. "So be it. I will send you to the gods to face an eternity tormented by your noble thoughts of love, while my wife and my queen sleeps in my bed and forgets about you, you pretentious piece of gutter trash." His expression twisted by vengeance, he lunged at Sethi, swinging his khopesh high. The blade hissed down, hard, fast.

Spinning his own blade around, Sethi caught Ramesses's khopesh against the inner curve of his own before it met with his shoulder. Straining against Ramesses's strength, he felt his own blade biting into his skin, opening his flesh. He pushed it away with a grunt, staggering, his sword held up before him, ready. He glanced at his shoulder. The blade had gone deep. He ignored the pain. "Far better for you to do what you will to me now," he returned, harsh, "I already gave up my soul to Horus to save Istara. Once I fall, there is nothing more for me. I will be annihilated. These last breaths are all I have."

Ramesses glared at him, incredulous, incandescent. "You blaspheming, lying son of a back-alley whore, you dare speak of such things?" He raised his sword once more, bearing down on him, "All know none may return from the realm of the gods. You have convinced her of these lies to make her heart your own, may Ammit devour you!"

He fell upon Sethi, delivering a relentless onslaught of strikes and slashes. Sethi parried, his blade connecting with Ramesses's flesh more than once; the pharaoh's blood splattering over him, hot, angry. Ramesses threw his shoulder back, as though to make a sweeping strike, leaving his chest exposed, inviting Sethi's attack. Sethi slashed, his blade biting into nothing more than air as Ramesses slipped to the side and completed the feint. Caught off balance, Sethi stumbled. Ramesses's blade slammed down, carving deep into his leg, opening Sethi's thigh from his groin to his knee.

Grunting hard, Sethi staggered, suppressing his pain. Retreating a step, Ramesses lowered his khopesh, waiting, his eyes glittering. Sethi cut a look at his thigh. The slash was deep, and bleeding hard. Lifting his eyes back to Ramesses's, he raised his sword in readiness for the next attack. Ramesses rushed at him, pushing him back across the grounds, ignoring opportunities to deliver fatal strikes, choosing instead to cut Sethi where he would experience the greatest agony.

Two more rapid circuits passed under Sethi's feet, the white sand turning red in his wake. Caught in the glare of Re-Atum's barque, Sethi's instincts told him he had fallen to another feint. Ramesses's blade sliced deep into his bicep, biting into bone. Sethi stared at the sword's blade buried in his arm, feeling nothing. Calm descended. From outside himself he watched Ramesses struggle to dislodge the khopesh. The pharaoh heaved at the hilt with both hands, once, twice, three times. It yanked free. Pain exploded, exquisite, blinding. Sethi's vision sparkled brilliant white, then dulled to dark shadows. Reeling backward, he slammed into one of the vestibule's pillars.

Lowering his bloodied khopesh, Ramesses followed him, panting. "It is over," he said, his blood-spattered chest rising and falling with exertion. "Give up your weapon. I will leave you my dagger. If you have not already succumbed to your injuries by the time Re-Atum's barque descends, you may use it to end your life."

Staggering to find his feet, Sethi leaned against the pillar, drowning in pain. Turning to the shadowed entrance, he searched for Istara. She stepped out onto the blood-soaked sand, her eyes found his, then fell to his injuries. Lifting her hand to him, she took several tentative steps across the grounds. He shook his head, once. She halted, her hand lowering to her side, her anguish palpable.

His throat burning, he spat, tasting the metallic scent of his blood. He pushed away from the pillar, hearing himself speak as though from a distance. "No," he rasped, "I die as the Commander of Egypt's Army, defending to my last breath. You will grant me my death, after all I have done for you, and for Egypt."

"I will not," Ramesses retorted, merciless. "You will die from your injuries or by your own hand. I refuse to grant you a quick and honorable death. It is my wish that you suffer in torment until your last breath." His blade swept up, then down, aiming for Sethi's sword arm.

Sethi lunged sideways, his guarded arm hanging torn and useless, and brought up his sword, catching Ramesses's curved blade in his own. Leaning all his weight against it, grunting with the strain, he pressed Ramesses's blade down, forcing the pharaoh's arm to twist backward, holding him immobile. Ramesses screamed, furious, and slammed his guard against Sethi's jaw. Pain exploded. He recoiled, stumbling sideways, and spat out a molar.

Ramesses followed him, relentless. Struggling to find his feet, Sethi saw the guard coming down once more. Its edge slammed deep into his torn arm. Ramesses grinned, savage as he ground it against the exposed cavity of Sethi's bone. Bellowing, Sethi broke free and staggered away, demented with pain, his sword flailing in front of him, useless.

Lifting his khopesh with both hands, Ramesses smashed the flat of his blade against Sethi's. Both blades shattered. Tossing aside his broken sword, Ramesses pulled his dagger free and threw it onto the ground. A spray of bloody sand splattered against Sethi's shins.

"You will not be interred," Ramesses spat as he stalked before him, "your name will be stricken from the records, your villas destroyed, and your servants and horses sent to Nubia's mines for the rest of their days. Your body will be thrown into the desert to be torn apart by hyenas. You never existed. You are no one. By my command, your name will never be uttered again."

Sethi dropped to his knee, fighting to overcome the jagged waves of pain tearing his body apart. Blinking the sweat and blood from his eyes, he found Istara, her chest heaving, despair stalking her. Spitting the blood from his mouth, he summoned the last of his strength and pulled himself to his feet one final time.

"Istara," he cried, his voice bloody, defiant, "I regret nothing."

Ramesses roared, furious. His armguard swung high. It hurtled down; violent, deadly. Sethi held Istara's eyes. The blow came, sending stars exploding across his skull. He slammed onto the wet sand. Darkness. Silence.